


Bloody Waters

by orphan_account



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-20 05:25:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13710786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Shuri goes to M'Baku for help. He proposes a deal instead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got out of Black Panther around 4 hours ago? And I loved it.
> 
> M'Baku and Shuri were obviously my favourites. I love a good love/hate dynamic so M'Baku's little rant about Shuri being a brat who doesn't respect tradition tickled my overactive imagination.
> 
> *This will contain spoilers for the film because it is a canon divergence to explain a scene that happens later on. Proceed with caution.

It’s near silent on the mountain top, the snow barely making a sound as it lands on the stone, when M’Baku hears the sound of light footsteps.

His warriors immediately tense, ready to defend their leader, but he holds a hand up when he sees who it is.

Shuri’s small face looks like a discarded acorn in the snow. Alike in shape and colour, but grey somehow, with tremors wracking her slim body.

He’s used to seeing her rosy cheeked and laughing, testing his nerves with her utter lack of respect for elders and tradition. It should give him some pleasure to see her so cowed, but all he feels is discomfort. As irritating as she is, she’s just a girl. And he would never tell her this – she’s one of the brightest young minds in Wakanda.

It makes his blood burn to see her look so small and frail.

“What are you doing here, girl?” he asks, voice low. He almost doesn’t recognize her without her mother and that pest of a white man by her side.

She doesn’t reply for a long moment, her teeth still chattering from the cold. She’s not used to the Jabari mountains and it shows. Her limbs are slender and long. Not unattractive, but too slim to retain any heat.

_If she were a Jabari woman she would be fed well and would never know the true coldness of these mountains._

It’s only a passing thought of how he could fatten her up, but the image he’s conjured of her round with child makes him ashamed. He readjusts his pelt and thankfully, she doesn’t notice.

“I come to you, on behalf of my brother,” she finally says, “Please, M’Baku. Help him.”

Her voice is small and throaty, obviously strained from the hours of wailing over her brother’s dead body.

But he’s not dead anymore.

“I brought him back from the dead. Repaid my debt and saved his life and now you would have me what?”

M’Baku stands and steps forward. Pleasure curls in his stomach when she has to look up to maintain eye contact with him.

He doesn’t want her afraid, he wants her respectful. He won’t be belittled like her fool of a brother.

“Sacrifice Jabari lives so T’Challa, who lost in a fair fight, can  _steal_ the throne?”

Shuri doesn’t lean away when the bulk of him is pressed against her chilled body and it angers him as much as it excites him.

Cold and begging for help but she’s still too proud to shy away from him.

Stubborn girl.

_Lovely girl._

“I will not help him,” he says before sitting down again.

He expects that to be the end of it. Shuri will run back to her Mother and they will concoct some half baked plan with Nakia to take back the throne. They’ll be fleeing the country within the week, and that’s if they’re not dead by then when T’Challa inevitably fails. The thought of T’Challa dead by Killmonger’s hand rouses no feeling from him.

When he’d found T’Challa half dead he had saved him out of honour, nothing else. But the thought of Shuri dying on a foolhardy quest has him clutching the arm of his throne.

He doesn’t love her. He doesn’t even know if he likes her.

She’s a grating girl, insolent, with no respect for the old ways. He thinks her head is needlessly inflated from the reliance Wakanda has on her technology.

Nevertheless, she is young, beautiful, and intelligent. Her hands have never known labour; her body has never experienced hardship. She’s no warrior and she doesn’t deserve a warrior’s death. It would be like sending a lamb to slaughter.

No, it _would_ be sending a lamb to slaughter.

His eyebrows rise to his hairline when she falls to her knees in front of him. Her bones make a harsh noise when they hit the stone that makes him wince.

“Please, I beg you!” she cries and he’s alarmed to hear the beginning of tears in her voice, “I’ll give you weapons, intelligence whatever it is you want -”

“The only thing I want is for you - To. Get. Up,” he says, but he knows his voice is lacking its usual harshness.

She stands quickly, like that will make him more to likely to heed her demands and his eyes immediately fall to the blood staining her dress at the knees.

“Come here,” he says and she stares at him with wide, tear rimmed eyes but does as she’s told, shuffling forward until the toes of her feet are in between the wide spread of his legs.

She squawks like a duck when he pulls her skirts up to her knees and even his own warriors give him pointed looks.

“What are you doing!?”

“Checking to see how badly you hurt yourself with that little display.”

Her legs are slender and make him wish she wasn’t between his legs right now, but he’s soon distracted by how they’re marred.

The brown skin of her knees are split and bleeding with dark red blood already crusting along the skin. He would need to send someone to tend to her.

She sniffles when he drops her skirts and restores her modesty.

“You’re already half starved and freezing, hurting yourself isn’t going to help T’Challa kill the Killmonger. But you royals do have a flair for the dramatic don’t you?”

She steps backwards, her face hardening with embarrassment and anger. It’s welcome after seeing her crying and hopeless in front of him. He’d rather have her angry any day.

“Excuse me for being willing to do everything and anything in my power to protect my family! And my country!”

Shuri is a proud girl. A princess of high intelligence and beauty. And while she serves the Wakandan people with her inventions, her loyalty is a much more limited resource.

_T’Challa doesn’t even know what he has._

He hasn’t felt jealousy towards T’Challa in years but he feels it now, staring down at Shuri who glares back at him with hard eyes.

He stands abruptly, making her stumble. This time he doesn’t stop, leading her until she’s nearly falling of the platform, with only his hand on her waist keeping her from falling into the snowy planes below.

He’s never been so close to her before and with the expanse of her tiny waist in his hands, he can feel every rib.

She’s just skin and bones. It’s deceiving considering the brilliant mind housed inside.

There is no shame in Wakanda, to be strong of mind instead of body. But nature dictates which one is more important and in an age of conquerors and conquered – wits do not win.

_If – no, when T’Challa falls she will have nothing. She’ll be no better than a lamb. Perhaps, Killmonger will kill her. Or something worse._

And in that moment, he makes a decision.

“Would you really do anything in your power to protect T’Challa?”

She doesn’t look angry anymore. Just confused and off-kilter, like she’s trying to understand his intentions with every flicker of her brown eyes.

“Yes,” she finally says, before becoming more sure of herself, “I would do anything for him.”

Her words set him on fire. Mainly with anger at T’Challa for not knowing how deep Shuri’s loyalty lies, but mostly at himself for what he’s about to ask of her.

He would kill any man who proposed such a thing to one of his sisters. But there are no men stronger than him in Wakanda. Not T’Challa, and certainly not Killmonger.

“Then marry me. Marry me, and I will send my Jabari warriors to help your brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna publish any crazy hate mail so don't waste your time writing it. If you like this give me a comment or a kudos so I know there's enough interest to continue.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who left such kind responses on the first chapter! I wrote it on a whim which is why I was so surprised and happy that so many people liked it.
> 
> I've gone back and edited the first chapter descriptions of M'Baku's throne room. I've only seen the movie once so I don't remember it exactly. I'll be seeing it again this Tuesday which will hopefully help me remember all the little details.
> 
> *Birnin Zana is the capital city of Wakanda according to MCU wiki so I'm assuming that's the city everyone was at during Black Panther despite it never being named.

She startles so badly she nearly falls down and on to the snow peaks below.

M’Baku clutches her close to stop her from toppling off the ledge, but the hand on her waist feels different now. Cold like the cuff of a chain, instead of warm like flesh and blood should be.

The implication of his hands on her has shifted her worldview on its axis.

“Let me go!” she demands, and he does, but only when she stumbles back, safe in the center of the platform.

She’s an animal cornered, even as he stands there with his broad arms hanging by his sides.

“Why would you want to marry me?” she asks, eyes wary, “You hate me.”

He scoffs, running a hand over his face like she’s told a good joke.

“You do! I know you don’t accept the shipments we send of my weapons. You think I’m an overly modern, disrespectful brat!”

Her words are things she’s accepted as fact for so long, but they sound false to her own ears when M’Baku stares down at her, aloof.

“So, why…”

She can’t repeat his request again; her cheeks are beginning to flush with the little hot blood left in her veins.

She’s never even kissed a boy before and he wants to _marry_ her. Her overly analytical mind is racing to understand what he wants from her, why he’s doing this.

_Does he want to use my mind? My position?_

He certainly can’t want her for her anything else. She’s not an unconfident girl, she’s fully aware of her intelligence and proud of it.

But she also knows she’s no great beauty. Her mind might be the brightest in the country but her face pales in comparison to women to like Nakia and Okoye.

_He can’t want me for that. He doesn’t._

This isn’t a love proposal, it’s a political offer.

“All those things are true,” he says dryly, “But your head is bigger than I thought if you think I reject your inventions out of hatred for you.”

Her hackles rise and it makes him smirk. She doesn’t like it, being the source of his amusement.

“I don’t accept your weapons because I don’t believe in them,” he says, as blunt as ever, “Not because _I hate you_.”

He manages to make the suggestion sound juvenile, like it would be below him to expend any energy hating her.

“What is there to believe?” she rolls her eyes in frustration. This is why her and M’Baku have never gotten along. She can’t fathom being content with anything, her mind always pushing her to make everything better. “They’re highly efficient weapons, the best in the world.”

“I have highly efficient weapons,” M’Baku pulls his spear from its casing, startling her. It’s sleek and pointed, the Vibranium origins clear to her educated eyes. But her eyes are also drawn to the thick corded muscles of his arms and the broad width of his shoulders.

His entire body is a weapon.

“Not as efficient as mine,” she says, feigning cockiness to hide her observation.

“And yet, here you are,” he waves at the rows of Jabari warriors lining his throne room, silently watching the exchange between the Princess and the Jabari leader.

“Begging for help from the most primitive tribe in Wakanda instead of using your _highly efficient weapons_.”

She balks at the word _begging_ , though she knows it’s true.

“Your weapons weren’t enough to keep T’Challa in power because they’re not real,” he spits, “He relied on child’s tricks and gadgets but stripped down, he was just flesh and blood. We all are.”

“The Jabari tribe knows this. It’s why we’re the strongest tribe in Wakanda and the reason we won’t fall. No matter who is in power.”

M’Baku’s words are final and loaded. He doesn’t want her weapons and he doesn’t care for her appeals to his good nature. The Jabari will thrive with T’Challa on the throne or not.

The only weapon she has left in her arsenal is the trade he’s proposed.

He stands, and when the Jabari warriors turn with him, she realizes he means to leave her.

“Wait!” she yells and to her shock, he does.

M’Baku may be able to ignore who the King is, isolated from the rest of Wakanda below, but Shuri can’t. Her heart isn’t nestled in the mountains, it’s in the chests of her Mother and her brother.

She is the Princess of Wakanda and Wakanda needs its King. It’s her duty to return the rightful king to the throne, no matter what form that help takes.

“If I…married you,” she struggles, “Your warriors would help T’Challa defeat Killmonger?”

“Without hesitation,” M’Baku says firmly.

She remembers T’Challa’s limp limbs encased in snow, and the nightmares Nakia had planted in her head of the garden burning to ash. That will be the entire country if Killmonger gets his way.

The choice has already been made.

That doesn’t make it any easier for her to tentatively reach out and grab M’Baku’s hand.

It dwarfs hers. The palm of it is hardened from life in the mountains and years of combat, so unlike her own, but all she can feel is his warmth, seeping into hers.

“Then I will - no, I mean I do, I -"

M'Baku brings her ramblings to a stop when he pulls her small hand to his face and presses a kiss to the back of it. Her skin tingles where his lips and gristle touch.

When other parts of her body start to tingle, she snatches her hand away like its on fire. M’Baku looks offended but she can’t bring herself to care.

“What was that for!?” she asks.

He gives her that look again, as if she’s the juvenile one for asking such a question.

“It’s a sign of respect. Not that you would know anything about that.”

_Is that how he will respect me now?_

Shuri has seen how husbands respect their wives, with chaste kisses on hand and cheek. And more heated ones when they think others are not looking.

“We don’t have time for this,” Shuri isn’t sure if she’s talking to herself or M’Baku.

“We need to get your Jabari warriors to Birnin Zana as soon as possible. T’Challa is planning an attack.”

The irate look on M’Baku’s face fades and it’s replaced one of a single-minded leader.

“You can give me the details on the way there.”

It’s only when they’re halfway down the mountain, a line of Jabari trailing them, that Shuri realizes he never told her _why_.

 

* * *

 

When the battle is over and won, there is to be a ceremony.

Shuri knows she got what she wanted. T’Challa is King again and Killmonger is dead in the sea. But she never considered what would happen after the battle when she would need to tell T’Challa and her Mother what she had done to secure the Jabari tribe’s loyalty.

It’s always been a problem of hers. So eager to find solutions, she often never looks beyond what she can see. That lack of foresight has left her with scrapes, bruises, and the odd cut or two.

_A betrothed is a first._

Her stomach is in knots and she knows it’s not because of the corset digging into her ribs, though it’s not helping.

“Shuri, are you alright? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

She whips around to see Nakia, leaning in her doorway, obviously having seen her expression reflected in the mirror hanging across from her.

Shuri waves her hand and the holographic mirror disappears in a haze of blue pixels and white light.

“I’m fine.”

She tries to smile but she’s sure it comes off like a grimace.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes it’s…just the corset,” she lies.

Nakia sits next to her and slips the tips of her fingers under the edge of it.

“I think you could get away with taking it off today. I’m sure your Mother is too happy to notice, much less scold you for it.”

_She’ll scold me for the next 20 years when she finds out what I did._

“M’Baku will notice,” she says, without thinking. She immediately realizes her mistake when Nakia gives her an odd look.

“M’Baku?” she repeats strangely.

“You know…” Shuri tries to come up with an excuse for why his name had slipped from her lips so casually. She’s not sure why it has and it scares her.

“He’s always giving me shit for not adhering to tradition…but you know what? Him and my Mother will just have to deal with it. Today is a day of celebration.”

Nakia stays silent as she unhooks her corset and discards it on the floor but her eyes are thoughtful.

_I don’t care what he thinks. I don’t._

“You shouldn’t use such language,” she finally says, “You know your Mother doesn’t like it.”

“Nakia!” Shuri whines, “ _Day of celebration_! I’ll be a good princess tomorrow.”

Nakia smiles softly and tucks one of her braids behind her ear.

“You’re always a good princess.”

Her words are kind because Nakia doesn’t know how to be anything else, but they make a lump rise in Shuri’s throat.

“Nevertheless, you’re right,” she says, “It’s a day of celebration.”

Despite Nakia echoing her bright words, Shuri feels like she’s walking to her execution, instead of a celebration.

 

* * *

 

The throne room is filled with noise as members of the different tribes slowly pour in, all of them talking at once about T’Challa’s return from the dead and the Killmonger’s fall. It seems like half the country is packed in there, but she isn’t bothered. This is preferable to bloodshed any day. She sees friends apologizing to friends, brothers to sisters, and in the midst of it all, W’Kabi speaking to Okoye. Her hands in his, and both of their eyes, soft.

When she finally spots M’Baku from across the throne room, she looks away quickly, but he’s already seen her.

He makes an imposing figure, his broad body cloaked in black fur as he crosses the throne room to meet her.

She recoils when he wraps his thick fingers around the slip of her arm. Not out of fear or disgust, but from the blatant intimacy of it.

Nobody knows about the betrothal, save for the Jabari warriors who were in the throne room with them. Shuri can see one of them watching her knowingly, a smirk curling on her lips.

She’s never been one to shy away from attention, but that singular gaze makes her want to hide.

M’Baku doesn’t let her. He only tugs her closer to him, the bodies in the throne room pushing them together. She’s sure he’s only crossed the room to scold her for her lack of corset or something equally inane.

Instead, he says, “You’re hurt.”

“What?” she replies, confused. He strokes the thin red line wrapped around her arm, a brand from Killmonger’s claws. She hadn’t even noticed it, too busy dreading the ceremony and taking care of injured Wakandans.

_But he noticed it across the throne room._

“Oh,” she says feebly. She tries to pull her arm away but his grip is firm, one of his thumbs tracing the wound and making her shiver.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“It’s not, It will scar if you don’t apply a salve to it.”

“I said, I’m fine!”

She wrenches her arm from grip and he looks angry before he schools his face into one of stony indifference.

It’s a familiar face and she prefers it. She understands it.

What she doesn’t understand is concern, and soft touches that have pebbles rising on her skin without the Jambari chill as an excuse.

A hush falls over the throne room as the doors open. Golden light pours in, and T’Challa with it, unwittingly saving her from the confusion M’Baku brings.

_Finally._

“Countrymen,” T’Challa begins, “friends and family.”

He smiles at Shuri who grins back wide, despite the turmoil burbling inside her. Seeing T’Challa standing at the head of the room, with everyone looking at him like he’s the sun, reminds her that she made the right decision. No matter what he would think about it.

“Killmonger is dead and we’ve sent Wakandan agents to collect the shipments of weapons he attempted to send into the outside world,” T’Challa doesn’t look nearly as happy as he should at the proclamation of Killmonger’s death but he continues, “I know the last few days have been…difficult for everyone. But instead of dwelling on the mistakes of the past, I want to celebrate our victories. And the best among us who have proven that a united Wakanda, is a strong Wakanda.”

A few warriors bellow, beating their chests at T’Challa’s words.

“I want to call upon the leader of the Jabari tribe, M’Baku.”

The corners of Shuri’s mouth fall in shock as M’Baku steps forward, heeding the demand of his King.

_T’Challa knows. He must know._

Every muscle in her body is tense, ready for flight, but neither man gives away what they’re thinking.

Then T’Challa surprises her and smiles before clapping the corner of M’Baku’s shoulder in comradery.

“You and your Jabari warriors came to my aid even when you had no reason to. For that I am eternally grateful and it’s why I’m giving you a place on the council. A place the Jabari tribe deserved years ago.”

The crowd claps politely and Shuri can hear the Jabari warriors around her grunt to celebrate their leader, but Shuri only has eyes for M’Baku’s face which reveals nothing.

He makes eye contact with her across the room and she tries to transmute what she’s so desperately thinking, with her eyes.

_Please don’t tell him. Please, please, please._

A smile cracks on his face as he claps T’Challa’s shoulder in turn.

“Thank you for the honour, _my King_.” Only he could make King sound like a curse word.

He meets her eyes and she knows what he’s about to do before he does it.

“But it’s only a given that I would send my warriors to defend the brother of my betrothed.”

_Oh, you fucking dick._

T’Challa grows rigid as M'Baku's words reach the crowd and whispers begin to travel like waves from a stone falling at sea.

There’s nowhere for her to hide from the crowd or T’Challa’s wide confused eyes. They dart between her and M’Baku before settling on her.

“Shuri, is this true!?”

She doesn’t answer, her mouth hanging open in horror at the situation, which is most likely answer enough.

T’Challa’s face shifts from understanding to raw rage.

And for the second time that day, Shuri is forced to watch her brother tackle a man for her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> M'Baku is a dick with hurt feelings but he's a lovable one.
> 
> Please leave a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed the chapter, it feeds my drive to write.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments last chapter guys! I'm sorry I'm not always able to get to all of them on time, I'm pretty swamped in between writing and school but they do make me so happy to read.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter! This update is basically just #FamilyDrama.

It takes four warriors to separate them, three Jabari and W’Kabi who pins the King’s arms down with ease.

T’Challa’s nose is wet with blood and Shuri can see the beginning of a bruise on M’Baku’s cheek, but he looks unbothered. Amused almost.

 _Of course, he is_.

“T’Challa!” Ramonda yells, “Enough.”

Their Mother’s voice makes T’Challa stop, though his eyes are still burning.

Ramonda leans in closer and hisses, “This behaviour is not fit for a King.”

“That,” M’Baku says, wiping blood from his lip, “is something we can agree on _Queen Mother_.”

T’Challa tries to lunge at him, again, but Shuri moves between them, blocking T’Challa and unwittingly protecting M’Baku.

 _I’m not protecting M’Baku, I’m protecting T’Challa’s reputation,_ she tries to convince herself.

“Brother, please,” Shuri says, her voice breaking.

She can see the fight leave T’Challa when they make eye contact, his shoulders finally uncoiling as he takes in the mess they’ve made. The purple on M’Baku’s face, the tears in Shuri’s eyes, and the murmurs filling the throne room like rapidly rising water.

“W’Kabi,” he says, and the man straightens himself, standing at attention. “You may release me now. I promise I will not hurt him.”

He doesn’t say M’Baku’s name. Shuri thinks he’s too angry to when even just uttering that promise to W’Kabi sounds painful.

W’Kabi looks hesitant before he makes eye contact with Shuri. She nods shakily, and only then does he release T’Challa’s arms and step back. The Jabari warriors stand their ground, eyeing the King distrustfully.

“I want everyone to leave,” T’Challa yells suddenly, making Shuri jump, “Everyone except my family and _M’Baku_.”

His tone leaves no room for argument, though even as people leave, they look back curiously. It makes Shuri’s stomach churn to have so many people so obviously intrigued by her.

She might be the more intelligent of the two, but she has never been the child of interest.

It has always been: _When will T’Challa take the throne?_

_Is he ready yet?_

_Will he be a good King?_

While people cared about what she created, nobody ever concerned themselves with her.

Now she would be the talk of the city, and on T’Challa’s second coronation day no less.

W’Kabi and the Dora Milaje do not follow the procession, standing behind the King impassively.

“It is our duty to protect the throne,” Okoye simply says, “That includes stopping you from causing an…inter-tribal incident.”

The Jabari warriors that had dragged the King off their leader stand as proof of Okoye’s words, their faces hard, hands wrapped around their weapons of choice.

“My Jabari warriors will not leave,” M’Baku says matter of factly, “Not after you attacked me.”

“I believe I had good reason to,” T’Challa says, walking up to M’Baku, jaw tight.

Shuri is afraid that T’Challa will attack M’Baku again until he abruptly stops and turns his anger on her.

“What is the meaning of this!?” he asks, “What have you done?”

Shuri flinches. T’Challa’s anger is like a whip, sharp and abrupt when it makes a rare appearance. She’s seen it directed at warriors, her Baba’s murderer, but never her. It hurts more than an actual slap.

“Do not speak to her that way,” M’Baku rumbles, and for the first time since he was tackled, he doesn’t seem amused. He moves past Shuri, facing T’Challa at full height, chest forward.

 _Great Gorilla M’Baku_ , Nakia had said.

Shuri only understands the name now, seeing him stand toe to toe with her brother who takes after the sleek form of the panther.

“I do not need you to tell me how to speak to my sister.” T’Challa is quiet but Shuri can hear the violence brewing in his words.

Ramonda silences them both with a cluck of her tongue.

She sidles past and pulls Shuri’s face into the warm cusp of her hand.

“What has happened, my love?” Ramonda asks, and her voice is so maternal, so different from the starkness of T’Challa’s masculine anger that Shuri begins to cry.

Ramonda hushes her, wiping her cheek gently with one of her thumbs.

“It is alright. No matter what it is, it is alright.”

Shuri doesn’t know if that’s true and she’s scared to find out.

She turns to look at M’Baku. He looks oddly somber when he looks at her, and she doesn’t know why.

She scrubs at her cheeks, remembering her tears and becoming oddly self-conscious.

_I don’t want him to feel sorry for me._

He already thinks of her as a little girl, she will not have him think of her as a pitiful little girl.

“We came to an agreement,” he says slowly, holding her eyes, “When T’Challa was planning his attack on Killmonger.”

He doesn’t continue and Shuri realizes, _He wants to make me say it._

“My hand for his army,” she says, her voice little more than a whisper under M’Baku’s penetrating gaze.

Shuri can hear her brother stop breathing for a moment before he exhales sharply, nostrils flaring.

Her Mother shows no strong emotion either way, but her eyes are pensive.

“I’m not angry with you,” Ramonda says gently, wiping away what’s left of her tears from her cheek.

Her hands fall from Shuri’s face before less gently she announces, “It is a fair arrangement then. I find nothing unjust about it. And it may even prove fruitful in uniting the Jabari tribe with the Golden tribe. Especially with a royal heir from both.”

Her Mother says, heir, the same way people say _the_ _grass is green_ and _water is wet._ Like it’s a given.

Shuri can’t even imagine sleeping with M’Baku, much less having his children. But now that the seed has been planted by her Mother, she imagines what it would be like to have the bulk of M’Baku’s body holding her down, pushing inside.

_I will not have to imagine, one day._

The realization has her ears burning and her thanking Bast that no one can read her thoughts. Though she’s not sure when she sees M’Baku’s eyes traveling over her.

“Mother!” T’Challa snaps, “How can you approve of this?”

Ramonda jerks at T’Challa’s tone until he concedes, bowing his head to her in respect.

She eyes him before replying, “I approve because it is fair. The Jabari are the reason Wakanda is not being ruled by an American right now. I think you forget that.”

T’Challa flinches because it is true.

“My marriage to your Father was under similar circumstances. The Golden tribe needed warriors from the River tribe to protect the border because the Border tribe’s numbers were dwindling. I agreed and I became a member of the royal family when we married.” It is a story they’ve heard multiple times but Shuri is taken aback by how similar it is to her current situation.

“I only demand two things.” Ramonda walks up to M’Baku, her gown gliding across the floor. She barely reaches his shoulders, but she is not cowed.

“You are only to marry when Shuri comes of age,” she says firmly, “And you will not mistreat her in any way or, I will kill you myself.”

They’re harsh words from her mild-mannered Mother. She’s usually the one who tells T’Challa to temper his anger and Shuri to lower the expectations for her inventions. It makes the pronouncement even more effective.

M’Baku has never been warm towards her Mother.

Shuri doesn’t even know if he respects her or if he only digs at her to bother T’Challa. So, she is surprised when M’Baku takes her Mother’s hand in his and brings it to his mouth.

 _A sign of respect_ , Shuri remembers.

“I give you my word.”

Ramonda smiles tightly, before pulling her hand from his, and turning on her heel.

Okoye follows, opening the door for the Queen Mother and shadowing her every step.

Shuri watches her go with solemn eyes. She feels like her Mother is leaving more than just the throne room, as if a piece of her old life has been chipped away with her acceptance.

“Are we done?” M’Baku asks, the aloof tilt back in his voice, “Are there any more declarations or challenges to be made?”

He stares at T’Challa, as if daring him to attack again, but he appears to be frozen, still processing what has occurred.

“Good,” he says, “Because we will be returning to the Jabari mountains tomorrow.”

“We?” Shuri voices, incredulous.

_Surely, he can’t mean –_

“Yes,” M’Baku retorts, “ _We_.”

“But I’ve only just returned!” she snaps, “My lab is a mess and the city – “

“Do what you need to do tonight,” M’Baku interrupts, “Or do not do it at all.”

He marches out with his warriors following, uncaring of the anger on Shuri’s face and the storm hiding behind T’Challa’s blank one.

 _He’s a complete asshole_.

If T’Challa were speaking to her, she thinks he’d agree.

 

* * *

 

It is near daybreak when she returns to her room.

Her eyes are heavy-lidded, movements sluggish after spending almost all night in the lab, collecting drives and cleaning up the mess Killmonger had left.

She knows it won’t matter soon, she doubts M’Baku will tolerate her tinkering up in the mountains, and that’s if they even have facilities at all.

But they’re her inventions, her life’s work, so she hoards the drives she has managed to salvage, greedily.

She’s so tired she doesn’t even notice Okoye sitting at the foot of her bed until she throws herself on to it.

She screams but Okoye has a hand over her mouth before it manages to travel.

“Ssh,” she says, “It is just me.”

Shuri relaxes in her grip when her tired eyes take in the familiar bald head.

“Okoye,” she hisses, “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk,” she says like it’s normal for her to lurk in Shuri’s rooms this early for a _talk_.

“It is almost four in the morning,” Shuri whines.

Okoye raises an eyebrow, uncaring.

Shuri sighs, sitting up even when all she wants to do is lie down and fall asleep.

“About what?”

“M’Baku,” Okoye says curtly. “I will be brutally honest in my questioning, Princess.”

Shuri stares at her, worried.

“Are you afraid of him?”

“What!?”

“I am loyal to the throne,” Okoye says, “But I am also loyal to you. And if you are afraid to marry him, for whatever reason, I will cut him down where he sleeps tonight.”

Shuri doesn’t know where she would get this idea until she recalls her tears in the throne room and some of the stories she’s heard between Okoye and Nakia. Both of them have traveled the world, unlike Shuri. It doesn’t sound like a very kind place for women.

It’s a tempting offer, to lie to Okoye. To tell her that she is afraid M’Baku will throttle her, so she won’t have to leave the only home she’s ever known. But it’s not true, at least not in the way Okoye is insinuating.

“I’m afraid of how he makes me feel,” Shuri says, and it sounds like the first honest thing she’s said in days, “I do not understand it. But I’m not afraid of him.”

Okoye’s stern expression mellows out into something softer. Shuri’s glad to see her remove her other hand from her spear.

“That is a problem I can’t cut down, but I’m glad it’s that, and not the latter.”

“Can I ask you something?” Shuri says, quietly.

She wraps her arms around her legs and feels impossibly girlish, especially opposite Okoye who still manages to look so beautiful in the early hours of the morning.

She could ask her Mother, but she thinks she’s had enough shocks for one day.

“What is it like being married?”

“I’m not married, Princess.”

She doesn’t know how to phrase this delicately.

“Yes, but…you and W’Kabi do what married people _do_ ,” she stresses.

Okoye smiles knowingly.

“Do not look at me like that,” she says, cheeks reddening “ _Bast_ , I shouldn’t have asked. Never mind.”

Shuri rolls over, pulling her sheets over her head.

“Goodnight!”

She hears Okoye stand, but before she leaves she says, “It’s nice, Princess. Being married.”

It’s the vaguest thing Okoye could have said, but Shuri has never needed much to get her mind racing.

 

* * *

 

When morning comes, and with it her impending trip to the Jabari mountains, Shuri’s mind is far from her conversation with Okoye.

The woman stands beside her Mother outside the palace, but Shuri doesn’t want either of them. She wants her brother.

“Can we wait just a moment longer?” Shuri pleads, her hand tugging at M’Baku’s furs. It’s a desperate action, she would usually never ask M’Baku for anything, but she can’t bear the thought of leaving without seeing T’Challa.

M’Baku looks almost angry, but she isn’t sure with whom.

Still, he nods stiffly, and returns to the carriage they’ll be riding up the mountain. It would take only an hour with a craft, but the Jabari reject all technology so the length of the journey will be multiplied.

“I’m sure he is coming,” her Mother says. Okoye doesn’t offer any comforting words, she has never been a good liar.

But like he rose from the dead, T’Challa appears suddenly. He runs towards her and Shuri can’t help but meet him halfway, happy tears falling from her eyes.

_He came._

“I’m sorry,” T’Challa says quickly, so quick like he can barely contain the apologies pouring out of him, “For yelling at you and blaming you –“

Shuri stops him, “All is forgiven.”

She smiles through her tears but T’Challa shakes his head, “I was wrong, Shuri. To be angry with you for doing what you thought was best. You are…” he stops, looking for the words, “A good princess. And a very good sister.”

_Nakia must have spoken to him._

She’s always known how to get through to T’Challa.

“And you are a very good brother,” Shuri jabs him, “and King.”

T’Challa kisses her forehead and she leans into it, trying to preserve the moment in her memory.

“Shuri,” M’Baku says, not unkindly. “We need to leave before midday.”

She knows he’s right, so she forces herself away from T’Challa’s warm embrace. She keeps eye contact with him for as long as she can, before she needs to turn to climb into the carriage.

It’s high, far too high for her to scale herself. M’Baku doesn’t let her struggle, he hoists her up easily, with two large hands on her small waist.

“Are you done?” he asks her. She stares at the palace, her Mother, her brother, and the Dora Milaje. The cornerstones of her small world, before she says, “Yes.”

Despite the dramatics of T’Challa’s arrival, they leave without much ceremony, the carriage taking them further and further away from Shuri’s home.

The streets of Birnin Zana are always crowded, but Shuri notes that there are a few more people lingering than usual. All of them trying to get a glimpse of the isolationist Jabari tribe whisking away the Golden Princess.

_They’re like vultures, and I’m the carcass._

She’s already emotional after saying goodbye to her family. The extra attention makes her feel fragile.

“Come here,” M’Baku says, and Shuri feels something heavy cover her head, shielding her. It takes her a moment to realize they’re his furs.

It’s far too hot for them, but it’s better than being gawked at so she huddles beneath them, grateful.

Hidden under the shade of his furs, Shuri’s eyelids fall. Her lack of sleep from the night prior has finally caught up with her.

When she sleeps, she dreams of a boy with M’Baku’s eyes, and a girl with her wide smile.

They chase each other and laugh as they run along the edge of a snow covered cliff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're finally out of the capital. Time for some Jabari mountain fun time. Plenty of opportunities to get warmed up lol.
> 
> Please leave a comment or a kudos if you liked this chapter and if you have any thoughts!


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